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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/26860849">Three Men in a Pub</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sturzkampf/pseuds/Sturzkampf'>Sturzkampf</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Widdershins (Webcomic)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Gen, Prompt 6: Wrath, buggeruptober</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-10-06</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-10-06</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-06 17:56:20</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>General Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>1,066</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/26860849</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sturzkampf/pseuds/Sturzkampf</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>...not forgetting the Purple Hippo of Happiness</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>2</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>9</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Collections:</b></td><td>Widdershins Fanworks Month Pieces</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>Three Men in a Pub</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Jack O’Malley soon realised there were several unforeseen problems when he moved into the Witch House. For a start, the jokes about gingerbread became old very quickly. Worse, the amount of cleaning such an enormous house required was truly heroic. Mal would not have cared, but as Benjamin Thackerey shared the house with him, it rapidly became more of a priority than he would have liked.</p>
<p>But his main problem was finding a decent local. The old council offices where they used to live had been just down the road from the Hunter’s Folly, and that had suited Mal and Wolfe just fine. Their new house was on the other side of Widdershins, half-an-hour’s walk from the Folly. Of course, Mal and Wolfe had done plenty of walking in their time, so a visit was not out of the question, but it did make ‘nipping out for a quick half’ rather impractical. What they needed was a local pub just around the corner from the Witch House.</p>
<p>The Goat and Compass had looked promising until they discovered it was where the police went when they were off duty and both Wolfe and Mal found the large number of uniforms not at all conducive to a quiet relaxing drink. Sir Isaac’s Tavern turned out to be the drinking establishment for the student population, and although Wolfe liked the packed bar and vibrant atmosphere, Mal found that about five minutes was all he could take before his brain threatened to come dribbling out through his ears.</p>
<p>Tonight, they were trying the Snide Arms. Ben had recommended it as a more respectable establishment than a common tavern, so they had brought him along too. They had taken a risk and ordered food, which turned out to be surprisingly good. Once the plates had been cleared away the three friends sat back in their chairs for a final round and a plate of biscuits to settle their digestions.</p>
<p>“What do you think?” asked Ben.</p>
<p>“I must admit the beer is better than most,” said Wolfe, “and they served food that you might actually want to eat while sober, but...”</p>
<p>“But what?”</p>
<p>“It is all too restrained for me. I cannot imagine this place having an impromptu violin recital with the customers dancing round the tables.”</p>
<p>“Well, I’d say that is a good thing. I like to eat and drink in peace thank you very much. I am almost on the verge of enjoying myself.”</p>
<p>“Aye, the food and beer were good,” agreed Mal, “an’ I paid the bill, so dun complain!”</p>
<p>He picked up a biscuit from the plate and passed it under the table. Ben looked down to watch it snatched from the air and disappear in a shower of crumbs and the sound of enthusiastic gobbling. He frowned in puzzlement.</p>
<p>“What I don’t understand is, if your Purple Hippo of Happiness is invisible, why can’t we see the biscuits after he has eaten them?”</p>
<p>“Do you wish to see them?” asked Wolfe.</p>
<p>“No, of course not, that would be disgusting. But that is not the point. If we cannot see the Hippo, then we should be able to see the biscuits.”</p>
<p>“Nah, ‘s obvious,” said Mal. “Ye can’t see ‘em, ‘cos ‘e’s invisible.”</p>
<p>“But…”</p>
<p>“Stands t’ reason. Ye can’t see ‘im, right? So when ‘e eats the biscuits, ye can’t see ‘em either, ‘cos they’re inside him.” Ben’s frown intensified.</p>
<p>“I don’t understand how that can possibly work.”</p>
<p>“An’ ye call yerself a wizard.”</p>
<p>“But look…”</p>
<p>Further technical discussion on the nature of malforms was interrupted by the arrival of the landlord, a large man who clearly did not suffer fools gladly and had a very broad definition of what constituted a fool.</p>
<p>“Oi you lot!” he snapped. “Can’t y’ read? No dogs allowed in ‘ere!”</p>
<p>“Dog?” exclaimed Wolfe. “There must be some mistake. We have no dog.” There was a sound of vigorous crunching of biscuits from beneath the table. The landlord bent down to look. There was no dog, but there was a large debris field of digestive biscuit crumbs. He looked back up to where his three customers were regarding him with wide-eyed innocence.</p>
<p>“You see?” said Wolfe. “No dog.” There was a loud and disrespectful belch from floor level. Mal sniggered. The landlord looked beneath the table again. Still no dog.</p>
<p>“Now look here, my good man,” said Ben, putting on his best respectable voice. “If this is the way that you talk to your patrons, then we will take our custom elsewhere.” The landlord’s face darkened.</p>
<p>“Aye, why dun y’ do that? Bloody foreigners, coming into my pub. Why dun y’ go back where y’ came from?”</p>
<p>“What, Camberwell?” asked Ben.</p>
<p>“Aye, y’ bloody Southerners, comin’ up ‘ere, tellin’ good Yorkshire folk ‘ow to run their business. Bugger off.”</p>
<p>“I am afraid that we will not be…” began Ben, but the landlord had already turned his back and stalked away.</p>
<p>“…leaving a tip. Hm, well that spoiled a pleasant evening. Gentlemen let us drink up and go.”</p>
<p>“Nah,” said Mal. “Dun gi’ ‘im the satisfaction of makin’ us leave. We’ll go in our own time.”</p>
<p>“Well spoken!” said Wolfe, “although as friend Ben says, I think we will not be return customers.”</p>
<p>“Perhaps you could put a curse on the place,” suggested Ben, half joking.</p>
<p>“Nah, I c’n do better than that. I can tell all the nobs and ‘angers-on that want to talk wi’ the Witch o’ Widdershins wha’ a crap place this is. Spread the word. See ‘ow many customers ‘e get then.”</p>
<p>“That would be…”  There was a sudden loud crash and shattering and splintering. The landlord, carrying a large tray of drinks, had inexplicably tripped over something that was not there and fallen onto a table of well-dressed guests, scattering their food across the floor and drenching them with the contents of the tray. There was much shouting and complaining, with the landlord in the centre of the chaos.</p>
<p>“Isn’t there a German word for that?” Ben asked.</p>
<p>“<em>Schadenfreude</em>,” replied Wolfe happily.</p>
<p>“Ah yes, that would be it.”</p>
<p>Mal looked down at the floor.</p>
<p>“Ye alright? Din ‘urt ye or nuffin’ when ‘e tripped? Good.” He took the last biscuit from the plate and fed it into thin air, then picked up his glass and drained the dregs of the good beer.</p>
<p>“Aye, an’ <em>now</em> we need to leave.”</p>
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